


Aphrodisios

by Drunkonturpentine



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M, PWP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-07
Updated: 2014-03-07
Packaged: 2018-01-14 21:26:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1279432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Drunkonturpentine/pseuds/Drunkonturpentine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When John accidentally ingests a sexual stimulant, Sherlock must bring his partner the relief he so desperately needs.</p><p>Playing with the aphrodisiac trope. Just a bit of PWP for your enjoyment.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Aphrodisios

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, all! This little one-shot is my first foray into the AO3. Nothing too complex, here—just a serving of porn drizzled in fluff, the result of me playing with the aphrodisiac!sex trope. Please enjoy, and feel free to leave feedback! x

John’s head was at the foot of the bed, and he didn’t know quite how it got there, but he was far too overwhelmed with sensation to give it much thought. Sherlock—gloriously naked, sweat-sheened, and wanton—was taking John’s almost-painful erection into his mouth, slowly, inch by hot inch. John—naked, sweat-sheened, and desperate—was clutching fistfuls of comforter, wrapping his legs around Sherlock’s waist, and willing himself not to come right then and there.

Sherlock chuckled, an impressive feat for a man who currently had about seven inches of cock in his mouth. His pupils were blown out, his cheeks were flushed, and his hair was a tangled mess, and John thought that he had never looked more beautiful, or more fuckable, in all the time he had known him.

Sherlock took him all the way in, locking eyes with John and starting up a steady rhythm. John threw his head back with a moan, squeezing his eyes shut, but Sherlock stopped moving and slapped him none too gently on the thigh. 

“Ouch!” John hissed, looking back down the length of his own body at the detective, who narrowed his eyes. He pulled off of John’s cock long enough to say, “Look at me. I want you to look,” before running his tongue around and around the head.

John’s eyes rolled back at the exquisite sensation, but he determined himself to watch as Sherlock swallowed him whole again.

“Je-eeesus fucking Christ, Sherlock,” John cried, hips bucking involuntarily. 

Sherlock didn’t hold John’s hips down, but moaned, a low, salacious sound, and allowed him to continue. John looked at him with bewilderment. “You…want me to—?” he managed through the lust fogging his brain.

Sherlock looked him dead in the eye, mouth still hanging open wide. “Mm-hmm,” he replied, starting to bob up and down once again with vigor.

“Oh, /fuck./”

John felt as though his body were on fire from the inside out. The feeling, the action of fucking Sherlock like this, was unbelievably arousing, but driving John truly out of his mind was the thought that Sherlock wanted this, he had been trying to get John to start fucking himself into Sherlock’s mouth so that Sherlock could pleasure him this way.

“Sherlock,” he cried, hands moving to tangle in Sherlock’s mass of hair.

Sherlock was moaning as John fucked into his throat, looking like the very picture of debauchery. His own erection was getting to the point of distraction, so he absently stroked himself in time with John’s thrusts.

John was quickly coming undone. His back was arched, he was panting, and he was fairly sure he was sweating enough to soak the sheets beneath him. “So good, Sherlock, so good,” he moaned, burying himself in Sherlock’s hot, wet throat. 

Sherlock removed his hand from his cock to curl two fingers inside himself. He moaned loudly as he fucked himself, pressing against his prostate.

It took John a minute to realize what Sherlock was doing, but the sight of him impaling himself on his own fingers took him to the brink in a flash.

“Sher—Sherlock, stop,” John said, pushing him away gently. Sherlock looked to him with questioning eyes, shadowed with hurt.

“Want…want to fuck you, want to make you come,” John slurred, desperate for Sherlock to understand.

Sherlock seemed pleased at this, and straddled John’s hips, hovering in the air. “Anything you desire, John,” he rumbled, before lowering himself onto John’s cock. 

John’s whole world stilled for a moment as he felt himself slide into Sherlock. He had been so hard for so long, now, and experiencing such intense pleasure that as his hips met Sherlock’s, everything seemed to stop.

He came back to himself as he felt Sherlock’s hand cupping his cheek. “Breathe, John,” he said, voice hoarse and gravelly.

John rocked his hips up into Sherlock’s, watching his beautiful, pale torso rise and fall as John fucked him. Sherlock held John’s face in both of his hands, watching him tenderly, as he moaned with pleasure, feeling full and perfect.

“Jo-hn,” Sherlock said, half articulate, half just a wanton moan, and kissed the doctor desperately. John kissed back, exploring the other man’s mouth, while he picked up the pace, fucking him fast and hard.

Sherlock broke away, moaning loudly, his forehead resting against John’s. “Oh god yes, John, more, please—” 

John shifted the angle of his thrusts, fucking him more deeply than ever, rocking upward as fast as he could. Sherlock was crying out, begging, moaning, swearing, and planting sloppy, open-mouthed kisses to John’s face and neck. 

“Going to come, John, I can’t—can't—” Sherlock’s eyes were wide, blown dark, needy. John started fucking him in slow, powerful thrusts, knowing that it made Sherlock come hardest. Three, four, five thrusts, and Sherlock was shouting, his untouched cock pulsing over both their stomachs. He panted harshly, his heart hummingbird-quick.

John had been too hard for too long, now, and whimpered with distress as he kept thrusting shallowly, needing release but unable to achieve it in his over-sensitized state.

Recognizing his partner's struggle immediately, Sherlock moved them, lying on his back with his legs wrapped high around John’s torso. “Fuck me, John, I want to feel you come inside me,” he said, urging the other on. 

Half out of his mind with the overwhelming need for climax, John rocked into him, his thrusts erratic and small, frustrated noises hissing past his teeth. He buried his face in the crook of Sherlock’s neck. 

Sherlock squeezed John’s arse, pressing his mouth to the doctor’s ear. “That’s it, John, just let go.” He nibbled on his earlobe. “Come for me, John, show me how extraordinarily beautiful you are when you're filling me.”

John opened his mouth in a silent scream as his orgasm finally slammed into him with the force of a freight train. He shuddered and shook in Sherlock’s embrace, filling him with his release. Then everything went white and silent, until he could hear Sherlock’s low, urgent murmurs above him; 

“John? John, come back. /John./”

The doctor cracked open his eyes, meeting Sherlock’s stormy pair. “Hi,” he croaked, realizing that Sherlock had, at some point, laid him on his back, and there was a cold, damp washcloth pressed to his forehead. 

“The next time you lose consciousness after orgasm, do try to not hold your breath for the first several seconds. It might lead to an unnecessary ambulance call,” Sherlock snapped, eyes narrow.

“Did I scare you?” John croaked gently, bringing a shaky hand up to Sherlock’s cheek.

Sherlock scoffed, still looking put out, but grasped the hand at his cheek and held it firmly, squeezing. 

“’M sorry,” John mumbled, feeling his heart rate begin to slow back to normal parameters.

Sherlock shook his head, kissing John's mouth. “How do you feel?” he asked.

John was silent a minute, taking a mental check. “Sort of…hungover? Bloody knackered. But my temp and heart rate feel pretty normal,” he said. Nothing like the racing pulse and feverish sweats of earlier, when he'd first ingested the stimulant.

Deeming John's assessment reassuring, Sherlock gave a nod. “There is water on the table, but I don’t know that you should take anything else yet,” he said. His voice was hoarse and rasping, and John's cheeks heated as he remembered the reason for it.

“Are you all right? You look red again.” Sherlock pressed a hand to John’s wrist and the other to his forehead, checking. 

“I’m fine. I’m just remembering what a ridiculously incredible shag that was,” John said with a grin.

Sherlock relaxed at that, and settled for tracing invisible patterns on John’s arms with his fingertips. “That was the one benefit of all this,” he agreed.

“I love you,” John said, suddenly, urgently, looking into Sherlock’s eyes. "Needed to remind you."

The sharp, angular face softened as Sherlock smiled. “I know,” he said, kissing John's forehead.

John’s eyelids were drooping, fast. Sherlock chuckled, getting them both under the covers and setting the washcloth on the bedside table. 

“Drink some water, John,” he instructed, handing him the glass. 

John did as he was told, smiling a bit at the role reversal. “I’m okay now, Sherlock, I promise,” he assured the detective, but only set the glass back down after it was drained halfway.

Sherlock eased them back down, lying on his side to face his partner. “Get some sleep,” he said, pressing a kiss to John’s shoulder.

John yawned, curled like a cat. “You sleep too, Sh'lock,” he mumbled, already mostly gone.

“All right,” he murmured, kissing John again even as he decided to stay awake until he was certain any danger had passed. “All right."


End file.
